


Night of the Dead

by Enisy



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/pseuds/Enisy
Summary: Madoka cooks for Homura, and it’s like a religious ritual in reverse – the goddess tending to the acolyte.
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka
Comments: 19
Kudos: 42
Collections: Flash In The Pan: A Food Flash Exchange





	Night of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



When Homura drops Madoka off at her doorstep, the hug they share is powerful and heady, and presently banishes from her mind the kiss they _don’t_. The wind picks up – cool, fragrant – as if someone is holding Homura’s head above a bowl of cherries. There is a drizzle. She has to admit that she is starving – for connection, for restitution, and indeed, for food. The witch and her familiar led them on a merry chase for hours, and now it’s past 4 AM and her body demands energy.

Maybe her stomach growls, or maybe Madoka has picked up some of Kyubey’s telepathy through osmosis, because she holds the front door open. A smile follows, and a formal invitation – “for a very late dinner, or a very early breakfast.” Homura follows her inside.

Homura will follow her anywhere.

“I can heat up the leftover soup from yesterday,” Madoka says. “I just need to supplement a few ingredients” – and she sets about slicing a fresh block of tofu and some scallions. At this point, Homura realizes Madoka is still in her magical girl outfit, and the whole thing takes a turn for the weirder – but there is something solemn about it, too. Like a religious ritual in reverse, Homura thinks. The goddess tending to the acolyte.

There is a word at the tip of her tongue, but she cannot get a fix on it.

“Your mother cooks beautifully,” she offers once the soup is ready and she’s scarfed down half her share.

Madoka is standing over the sink by now, washing up, her back turned toward Homura. It’s all wrong; her petticoat’s too lovely for this matter-of-fact place… her shiny heels oughtn’t be scraping kitchen tiles. “My dad does the cooking, actually,” she throws over her shoulder.

Time does strange things in Madoka’s presence; the black-haired girl loses control of it, as it stretches or leaps like a trapeze artist. Years seem to have passed, and Madoka is still there, washing the dishes. Homura sighs wistfully. _Koliva_ – the rare, foreign word finally clatters against her teeth – food of the dead. Light seeps in through the holes in the window blinds, thin, pink, subdued. A cat yowls outside. Daytime is nearing.

And so is Walpurgis Night.

“Now Homura-chan will think I am a rank amateur,” pouts Madoka. “It’s not true! I know a thing or two about cooking, as well.”

“Is that so, Madoka?” asks Homura absently. She hopes the lack of honorific is appropriate for their relationship at this stage – it’s getting hard to keep track.

“Yes! Next time, you’ll see” – Madoka smiles brilliantly – “I’m going to change your life.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [enisywrites](https://enisywrites.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come on over if you want to drop me a prompt or a question, or to just say hi!


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